The Legend of Zelda: Tell Me Secrets PREVIEW
by Shinigami-Zelda-sama
Summary: My name is Link Kokiri. I work at a fairly large insurance company, situated in Castle Town, and I get paid fifteen dollars an hour, eight hours a day, forty hours a week. And my life has just been turned upside down. - - - Rated M for heavy sexual themes, language, and adult content much darker than Only Chosen Love .


**Well, this is just a preview of the first chapter for a new fanfiction I thought of writing. As you can probably tell, this story is a lot darker and more sexual than Only Chosen Love, and I'm releasing this preview to see how many people will actually want to read this story (although I'll probably keep writing it anyway even if not as many people like it). So this story will be a lot more M-rated than Only Chosen Love, and I probably won't be submitting the rest of this chapter, along with Chapter 2 and onward, for a little while. If you like it or if you think there's something it needs, don't hesitate to PM me or put a review in. **

**ALSO this preview will be deleted when I put up the full story with updated chapters. Thanks :D**

**-Shinigami-Zelda-sama**

**The Legend of Zelda: Tell Me Secrets**

**Preview**

My name is Link Kokiri. I work at a fairly large insurance company, situated in Castle Town, and I get paid fifteen dollars an hour, eight hours a day, forty hours a week.

In the mornings, I take a hot shower, choose and then dress into my preferred dress shirt with black dress pants and clean black shoes, brush my teeth, and leave my home with my briefcase and my suit jacket. I lock the house door and then head down street to the underground subway system, which is less than a five minute walk away.

The subway ride is fifteen minutes. I always sit near the back, in a window seat if it's available – which it usually is – and get off on Dawson street, where I walk the last two minutes to my work building. It's a very tall building, over five storeys high, and I work on the fifth floor. My job is to work with clients and try to come to a reasonable agreement when it comes to their insurance, so that they get money to help themselves, and so that my company doesn't lose any money – even if it means turning away customers with their insurance claims.

It's not a very fun job, but the pay is good and the job is considerably normal and easy. All I have to do is get along with my boss, who's a thirty-year-old blondy with big tits, a wide waist and cleanly shaven legs, and I get to keep my job. Of course, it's not that hard to get along with her – she flirts with me every chance she gets. Every time I'm called to her office, it's usually her talking about how sexy she is and how we should go out to dinner sometime.

It's disgusting.

I don't know about other people, but I have my own turn-ons to worry about. I don't care much for a woman's breast size, or how good they are in bed. If they have a big ass, okay, that's great, but again, it doesn't matter to me. Personally, I like a woman's skin, how it feels when I touch it, how smooth or rough it is. I like the shape of a woman's wrist, especially if it's nimble and a little small. I don't have a foot fetish, but if a woman has small feet, then that's great too. And lastly – and I know a bunch of other guys probably have this too – the look of a woman's lips. Everything comes down to how their lips look for me – whether they be full, thin, pale or pink, soft or rough. Feeling them isn't an issue for me, it's what they_ look_ like.

But who am I to talk about turn-ons? I haven't been in a relationship in seven years. That can be considered a long time for some people. But for me, a guy who lives a normal, hectic-free life, that's quite alright. I don't mind being alone.

My morning routine at work starts with me getting a morning coffee from the staff room, and then heading to my cramped cubicle, which has a single computer, a desk, and various pencil cups and paper clips. I slide my briefcase under my desk, right by where my feet go, as usual, and boot up my computer. I sign into my account, check my email for any notifications from other businesses, and then work on insurance paperwork for the next god-knows-how-long until somebody happens to walk into my office.

I'll have a few clients to work with, all with different insurance claims, from house fires to dented cars, and I'll sign a few forms to grant them their claims. When I don't have clients to work with, I have paperwork to fill.

Around noon, we have a coffee break, so I go into the staff room to have a chocolate dip donut and a cup of coffee and maybe exchange a few words with my fellow co-worker, Sheik. He's a pretty carefree

guy, who enjoys hanging with his friends in his spare time and making my job a little bit easier to do by creating lighthearted conversations and telling the funniest jokes around the office.

After the coffee break, I return to my cubicle for the next four hours. A few more clients, a few more claims – some accepted, some rejected – and speak to my boss maybe twice during the time I'm working, both of which she makes a remark about my hair or my smile or how 'hardworking' I am. And then finally – _finally_ – the hour hand hits the four, and I organize all my forms and paperwork back into my briefcase and sign out of the office, heading back down street to the subway.

The subway ride is as quiet it is in the morning, only saying hello to maybe three or four people, and then getting off on my street where my house awaits me. I unlock the door and head inside, immediately going to my room for a change of clothes.

When I'm dressed into something a bit more comfortable, I work on making dinner, usually something simple, and sit down with it to watch the news and anything else that may be on.

After all that, I go to bed at nine before brushing my teeth and dressing into a t-shirt and loose sweatpants to sleep in.

And so, my days are hectic-free, and normal.

* * *

Today is going to be the same as always. Completely _normal_.

When I've finished my toast and egg breakfast, I dress into a cleanly-pressed suit and leave my home, heading for the entrance of the subway.

After the subway ride, I head to my work building. I sign in, sit down at my office chair, and make myself comfortable.

And so, my work day begins again.

* * *

When noontime hits, I make my way to the coffee room, where my co-workers have gathered to chat over a cup of coffee and a donut from the nearby donut shop.

"Hey, Link," Sheik greets me as he stirs a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. "How was your morning?"

"Same old, same old," I mutter before taking a bite from my chocolate dip donut. "Paperwork, paperwork, clients, paperwork."

Sheik smiles. "Are you going to the staff party at the end of the month?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I dunno, I've never been much of a party person."

Sheik suddenly takes his arm and slings it over my shoulder, right around the back of my neck. I shift under his hold, feeling a little uncomfortable with the sudden personal contact. I don't really like people touching me, even if they _are _my friend.

"Look, Link, you've gotta get out more," he tells me. "You've gotta get some friends, and a _hobby_."

I roll my eyes at him before turning to make some coffee; this also forces him to take his arm off me.

"I have a hobby," I say to him as I pour the coffee into a clean mug and grab three packets of sugar.

"No, you have a _job_," Sheik corrects me. "A hobby is something you have to _enjoy _doing."

"Well, maybe I _do_ enjoy my job," I object as I stir the sugar and milk into my coffee. "And who are you to talk?" I growl, shooting a stern look at my friend. "If you're looking for a fun job, why are you here?"

Sheik shrugged his shoulders. "Lots and lots of FarmVille, Link, with good pay. And don't change the subject – this is about you not having fun."

"I know how to have fun!"

Sheik takes his glare off me to observe the coffee room. Then he grabs my shoulder and directs me to face a certain way.

"See her over there?" he asks me, pointing to the woman with the brown hair that's tied into a stylish, somewhat messy bun. A single strand is hanging down on the left side of her face. She's eating a chocolate chip muffin at a patient pace, picking away at it with her hand while she talks to a group of female co-workers.

"Zelda Harkinian," I answer him. "She works a couple of cubicles down from me."

"I know you've got a thing for her, man," Sheik says quietly. "But she's not going to notice a random accountant who doesn't speak a word to anybody and sits home alone watching America's Funniest Home Videos all night while thinking about the boner he hasn't had in over five years."

It's true, I haven't been in a relationship for over five years – nine years, to be exact. But he doesn't have to talk about it that way.

"Okay, I do _not_ do that," I hiss.

"It doesn't matter, that's not a good way to live. It's boring, and you'll end up becoming a senile old fart who can only talk about his bowel movements."

I scowl at him. "Well, what do you expect me to do?"

"Go. Talk. To her," he orders with clenched teeth.

"What would we talk about?"

"Just say, 'Hi, how are you?' and it'll all unravel from there." He pats my back. "Just try it."

I let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine, fine . . ."

I stretch my fingers at my sides while I walk towards her, trying to sort out what I'll say to her in my mind. All too soon I'm standing a foot from her, and she's noticed me.

"Uh . . . h-hi . . ." I greet her. My hands are already getting sweaty, and I've forgotten everything I was planning to say; I didn't think I would get _this_ sweaty around her.

Her eyes lock right onto me – they're an unusually bright blue. There's no way eyes ca be that bright in color; it must be the dark eyeshadow, mascara, and eyeliner she's wearing that's bringing out the blue so much. Either way, it suits her.

"Hello, Mr. Kokiri," she greets me formally. "How are you this afternoon?"

"I'm . . . good," I reply, my mind and body becoming a little calmer now. "And you . . . ?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine," she says casually. "Your friend is spying on us, by the way."

I turn my gaze around to see that Sheik is staring right at us, not even _trying _to be secluded.

"I-I'm sorry," I immediately apologize; this is embarrassing. "He kind of set me up to this . . ."

"Oh?" she raises an eyebrow. "Well, if you didn't want to talk to me, that's fine."

She starts to turn back to her circle of friends. Fuck.

"No, that's not what I-!"

_You fucking pussy, just talk to her! _

_But I-_

_GO._

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," I say. "I do want to talk to you."

She smiles, and turns back to me. "Then don't be doubting things you want to go through with. Be confident."

My head is quieting down.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

She holds her hand out to me. "My name is Zelda Harkinian."

"Yeah, I know – you're just down the aisle from me," I say. I take her hand to shake it – it's soft and gentle. "My name is Link Kokiri."

"I know," she says with a small smile.

She pulls her hand away; I just notice something silver wrapped around her wrist, underneath her suit jacket sleeve. Must be a bracelet.

"You never struck me as a very social person, Mr. Kokiri," Zelda tells me as she eyes me suspiciously. She can seem to portray a lot of emotions with those eyes of hers – it's mesmerizing.

"I, uh . . . don't fare well in social situations . . . that's why Sheik kind of pushed me over here."

"Shyness?"

I scratch my head; I don't want to say too much and ruin this conversation.

"It's . . . complicated. More like I don't fit in well with people."

"Oh. Well, you're doing a fine job talking to _me_, Mr. Kokiri."

"Heh, I guess. But you don't have to call me Mr. Kokiri – just Link is fine."

"Alright then, _Link_," she says, and then looks at the clock on the wall. "Our break is just about over. I twas a pleasure getting to talk to you. We should do it again sometime."

I beam, a silly grin on my face now. "Yeah, that would be great."

She nods, and then turns away to walk back to her office. I can feel my heart – and my stomach – doing cartwheels and other gymnastic routines from all the heavy feelings of nervousness and accomplishment.

_Calm. The fuck. Down. You're thirty, not sixteen._

Right. I've got to take care of this thing before I can feel good about myself.

**A Brief Interlude**

Zelda sits in her office chair, her eyes stuck on the computer screen as she tries to sort out thoughts in her head.

_He wasn't that bad . . . a little stupid, but not htat bad. He's one of those clueless boys . . . they can be annoying to deal with . . . be he seems to be okay._

Zelda stares down at her right hand. She starts to pull the sleeve back, just catching the slightest glimpse of silver, but then stops.

_No. Don't look at it. Just continue with your work. _

She does exactly as she's told herself, pulling her sleeve down and turning her gaze back to the computer screen, trying not to think of the cilice's sharp barbs that are digging into her flesh.


End file.
